To Be A Warrior

Chapter 31: Round and Round

None of this makes any sense.

I clench my fists, grunting as I land another hit onto the punching bag. My knuckles are red and raw, the skin sore. Droplets of blood well up from the cracks in my skin before they're smeared against the gray leather of the bag. There's a constant burn from healing, but also just a constant burn under my skin.

It's been a week since my dream, and nothing new has come up. No new vision. No new dream, no new revelation. I don't get it! This can't be it. Every dream I've had about my doppelgangers, every meetup, every time I was there as them, it was for an event in their lives that was important-to me and them.

How is earning a ticket to go on a train important to Catherine? What impact could that have possibly had?

I told Sam about the dream. I didn't really mention Halima, since when I told him there was a woman on Oban Heads he laughed and said he was a part of that, but he can't really remember who all was on there, or else he'd had tried to contact them to Rofflenet to see if any of them were still alive. I don't see the point in bringing her up if he won't know her, and she was really just someone who called me Cat.

Although her and Catherine must have really bonded for her to have written her a letter. Too bad that wasn't what I saw in my dreams, and that my brain can't seem to get it together and give me the information I actually need.

There's a sharp, wet sound of flesh hitting leather, sweat and blood mixing with each punch. The bag swings back from a more forceful hit, and I start to take a step back to brace for the force my fist will make. My foot hits the ground the wrong way, and before I can register what's happening, my leg folds, my knee buckling and my other leg unprepared to take on my full weight alone. A wordless shriek leaves my lips as I fall to the floor, followed by a thud as I hit the ground.

I lay there for a small moment, sweating and bleeding and breathless as my brain tries to catch up to the events of my body. The tight soreness and blunt pain of the fall is already fading, but my arms still shake weakly as I turn and try to push myself up. How long have I been doing this, exactly?

I only push myself up to sit on my knees, too scared to try to stand lest I fall on my face again. Even though there is no one in here to see me, I doubt my pride would be able to take it if I fell again. I lick my lips, tasting the salt of my sweat as my heartrate continues to steadily decline, the burning under my skin cooling to a simmer.

This helps, in a way. Pushing myself to my limit, going until I can't anymore-it clears my head, gets out all the incoming thoughts and questions I can't explain or find the answers to. It's all a waiting game-these dreams, my cure for immortality, a way to stop the V-Types, stopping the Last Riders.

Patience. I've never been good with being patient. I wasn't good at it when I came to Abel, and I'm not good at it now.

I finally push myself up off the floor, ignoring the sweat stain that's left there. I walk out on shaky legs, sweaty and exhausted, not really at peace of mind, but more so than I was earlier. Stepping out of the gym, I look over the fence that separates the roads from the track, my hand wrapping around cool metal as I watch those on it run. My lips quirk up into a smile when I see Milo running around the track, talking to Everton. He's running at a nice pace, able to talk, laugh. It's so good to see him smiling again. It's good to see him moving on, making friends, being happy.

It means Veronica is no longer eating away at his thoughts.

He loved her. I know he did. I know what it's like to lose the person you love, the person you cared for so much. I'm glad he's not as bitter as I was, so determined to hold onto my grief because I didn't know what I was without it. That's why I tried to keep him from running away, because I didn't want him to be like me and waste years mourning over someone who was gone and destroying present relationships because of it.